


for convenience stickers

by stellatiate



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellatiate/pseuds/stellatiate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He <i>knows</i> why he doesn’t bother with Katara, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’s a second year student and he’s in his last year of undergrad.</p><p> </p><p>-—katara & zuko. au, college friends (with benefits).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. —how does it feel?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iRockYourSocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iRockYourSocks/gifts).



> this was originally a tumblr prompt for **socks** but since i wrote a second part to it i thought i might slap it up here too. also, the title is from my old uni's slang for condoms, _stickers_. how clever.

It’s terrible enough that the middle-aged woman behind the counter gives him a vile look that rattles his bones, but the hand that drags against the back of his sweater leaves a litany of curses to float through his brain because  _who the_ hell  _is that_?

“There’s no way I could get you to tell me who those are for, huh?”

Zuko has a mouthful of curses but instead, he shoves the crumpled bill across the counter and snatches the black bag off of the metal dispenser. He’s only a few short yards away from his dormitory, where he can pretend this really isn’t happening—in fact, that it  _never_  happened at all.

But he turns around and she’s  _there_ , grinning. Damn her. Zuko does his best not to trail his eyes over her, but he can’t help it; Katara’s hair is pulled in a lazy ponytail behind her head instead of draping over her shoulders, and therefore, it doesn’t do much to shield him from the sight of her purple bra peeking out from beneath her cardigan.

“It’s none of your business,” Zuko half-growls and shoulders his way past her, blinking the images of her body out of his head with a weak attempt at chastising himself. He  _knows_  why he doesn’t bother with Katara, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’s a second year student and he’s in his last year of undergrad.

The door takes too long to close behind him and he sighs because he knows, sighs when he hears the click of her boots behind him. “Well, someone’s got an attitude,” as if it stops her from sidling up to him, as if Zuko  _really_  wants her to go away.

“Look, Katara,” he stops and turns, but the curiously accusatory look on her face speaks volumes. His face falls into a frown, but Katara only reaches for the hand tangled with the cheap plastic bag, pokes her fingers between his and squeezes.

“Whoever it is,” she says with a purposefully lean (because when his eyes drag down between the press of her cleavage, she smirks maliciously), “I’m sure they won’t miss one of them.”

Katara’s other hand circles around to flatten against his abdomen, and Zuko tosses all of his previous thoughts about staying away from her out of his head. He swallows the knot in his throat as he leans, too, and kisses her on the mouth.

She tastes candy-sweet and Zuko kisses her deeply with a tilt of his jaw to the side and the feeling of her tongue gliding over his lips. But she pulls away first, fingers flexing over his knuckles, tugging.

He’ll have to come up with an explanation for Sokka about that staying away from his sister thing (but really, it is almost penance for being sent on a condom run).


	2. —when you're alone, call me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this really wasn't supposed to be continued but thanks to some of my friends, this scenario got written ehehe.

Zuko doesn’t look any more awake than Sokka feels, but there are other things on his mind as he tracks down his roommate. He almost feels bad when he stumbles across him stretched across their couch with his face buried into the cushions, but then again, he really _doesn’t_.

“Why’re you so exhausted?” His sister steps around him and flings herself down onto his back, stretching her body along his in a manner than churns the freshly devoured breakfast in his stomach.

Sokka squawks several syllables that sound like her name and Zuko shifts with the new, foreign weight on his back. He makes the first mistake of the morning by rolling, because Katara leans onto her knees until Zuko is face-to-face with her (and much to Sokka’s horror, she is straddled across his hips in what he prays is an accidental coincidence).

“Katara!” He finds his voice just as Zuko startles and nearly throws them both off of the couch; instead, he bumps his head with hers in his attempt to sit up and instead falls back against the arm of the couch, his face flushed.

It doesn’t quite sink in until one, two, three and he sits up again, pushing Katara backwards and then scooting her off of his lap. She only laughs, falling onto the other end of the couch and curling her legs over the cushions.

“I ran into Zuko last night,” she says and Zuko chokes—nothing to Sokka’s concern. His roommate is a fumbling, sputtering conglomerate of moments so bashful and awkward that he suspects soon someone will make a movie scripted of his encounters with people.

Sokka remembers all too well when he’d introduced his sister to Zuko in her first year and how much he’d babbled nervously in her presence (and even though he _shouldn’t_ , he remembers how Katara had blinked and grinned and made eyes at him the way she had several times in high school over a boy Sokka wanted to throttle). But Zuko, Zuko was _different_. Sokka trusted him.

“Did you have a good night?” This time, Sokka chokes. He squeaks, coughs into his fist and then narrows his blue eyes down at his sister, who spreads her fingers with an uncomfortable closeness over Zuko’s legs.

“That’s—Katara, wow, let me explain—just—” Sokka trips over his words for what feels like five minutes, but is probably only fifty seconds.

Katara smiles at him regardless and Zuko sits up, his face crinkled with sleepiness and suspicion. Sokka balks until Katara stands and waves her hand dismissively at him, moving into their kitchen as if she lives with the two of them.

Sokka crouches down so he’s almost sitting on the couch, and he tries to keep his voice as low as possible. “Speaking of last night,” he whispers fiercely, “what the hell was up with you? I, uh, _appreciate_ what you did, but flinging them on the bed like you were trying to make it rain was unnecessary, and I _distinctly_ remembering the campus store not carrying singles.”

An embarrassing, but necessary conversation. Zuko coughs and his face reddens, like he’s suddenly holding his breath. “Sokka,” he trails for a moment, running his fingers through his hair and sighing, “well, firstly, they only sell them in packs of five which is _so_ unnecessary when one is in a rush, and, well, I didn’t _mean_ to throw them I was just—”

“I used it!”

Sokka blinks once, because he doesn’t really remember Zuko having such a high voice. And then his sister pokes her face into the room, grinning at him in a vengeful manner.

“…for what, Katara?”

She moves into the room slowly and stands behind the couch, slides her arms over Zuko’s shoulder and stares at her brother boldly. Her arm twists up to run her fingers through his hair, and Sokka doesn’t miss the way they clench even though he is supposed to be holding her gaze.

Horror streaks over his face first, and then mirrors itself in Zuko’s face when he realizes that without speaking, Katara has completely implicated him against her better judgment. Sokka’s face reddens when Zuko grabs Katara’s wrist and flings it off of him, turning to look at her incredulously.

“Are you trying to get me killed?” He hisses, and Sokka gapes because now he _certainly_ can’t deny it.

“You,” Sokka stammers, and Zuko inches off of the couch, moving around it and past Katara with the clear intention to hide in his room until it’s safe, “you used a, you—”

Zuko freezes a foot behind Katara and reluctantly meets Sokka’s horrified glare. “I didn’t mean for anything like that to happen, I swear.”

“Would you rather I didn’t use a condom at all?” Katara’s quip comes back louder and Sokka nearly faints on the spot.

“This!” Sokka yells, storming around the couch and towards the two of them, ignoring the way that Katara backs up until she bumps into Zuko, and then she grabs his hand and slides behind him carefully, “this, I’m _not_ talking about this, with _you_ ,” he stares at Katara, then looks at Zuko, “with _either_ of you!”

He stalks past the two of them and into his room, battling with whether he should be angrier that the two of them clearly disregarded his wishes for them _not to do this_ with one another or whether he should just be horrified that now he _knows_.

Someone knocks on the door and Sokka musters up the most deplorable wail he can manage; the door cracks open and Katara pokes her face into the room. “Still being an idiot?” She asks as she slips into the room and closes the door behind her, but Sokka frowns and folds his arms across his chest as he lays back on his bed.

“Look,” she raises an eyebrow at the pout creasing his lips, “I’m nineteen years old, Sokka. And I _like_ Zuko, so don’t you dare make him feel bad for liking me too.”

“You don’t just _like_ each other,” he grumbles under his breath, and she rolls her eyes.

“No, we do a lot of things to each other I doubt you’re interested in.” He coughs, _hard_. “But that doesn’t matter, because I’m not a little girl any more, and Zuko’s not nearly as much of a jerk as Jet was, and you tolerated him for a year and a half.”

“You’d be surprised how much of a jerk Zuko can be when there’s no coffee during finals week.”

At this point, Sokka is less angry, less horrified, but unwilling to let up on his guilt trip despite the fact that Katara chastises him like a little kid.

“Sokka, _please_ don’t be an idiot about this, okay?”

Apparently, that’s all she has left to say about the situation because she turns to leave out of his room. But first, she slides open the drawer by his decorated door and plucks out an all-too-familiar package.

“ ** _Katara_**!” He screams, scrambling across his bedsheets to get out of his bed, but she laughs and slips out of his room before he can so much as get to his feet.

He hears her running down the hallway, hears her slam what can only be Zuko’s door closed, and Sokka flips over into his pillows and groans. He definitely does not have to be okay with this, he _definitely_ can’t be okay with his sister borrowing _those things_ from him.

And if he hears anything, he’s going to scream.

But he stays quiet, for the moment.


	3. —let’s just have a laugh about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three years way too late, i found some inspiration and finished this thing.

“I don’t get it.”

Her voice is quiet, at first. All Zuko can manage is a sliver of shame in the shadow of his eyes, his fingers lazily tangled with hers as she sits opposite him in the center of his bed. It is one of the rare occasions where Sokka is not in the apartment, but the desire for anything else is muted by the importance of this particular conversation.

“I owe her, Katara,” he counters, “I promised her—”

“It doesn’t matter!” She flexes her fingers around his knuckles, once. “It doesn’t matter, Zuko, because you—do you _want_ to be with her?”

“No!”

“Do you want to be with me?”

“I—” Time freezes for a while. “I don’t know.” The answer finally drips out of his mouth, but the heat in Katara’s voice still lingers and flares up with another question, hot in the hollow of her throat.

“What does that even _mean_? I’m good enough to fuck but still you want to go talk things out with your ex-girlfriend? You don’t even want to be with me?” Her voice splits on the final syllable, and Katara wrenches her fingers apart from his, glares into his face.

“You can’t even look at me,” she trembles, skidding to the other side of the bed protectively, “I should probably just go back to my room.” Zuko knows that he has no right to ask her to stay, not at all. But she doesn’t move, not yet. Katara simply winds the soft ends of her curls around her fingertips, imagines that he isn’t choosing silence when she needs answers, when she needs him to make his feelings known.

Zuko doesn’t move. He doesn’t even say anything, though there are a thousand words frothing in wait at the edge of his lips. The way his heart shifts in his chest makes him feel like he is falling from an indeterminate height for an infinitesimal amount of time, and the strain it has on his body is already too much.

“Katara, listen,” he says finally, “I owe her this closure. When I ended things, the _way_ I ended things…I can’t leave it that way.” The shift in the bed brings him closer to her, and for a split second of bravery, Zuko reaches for her hands where they are protecting one another in her lap. “I care about you, but I can’t ruin you the way I feel like I ruined Mai. I couldn’t forgive myself for that. Please.”

Katara’s face is still crinkled with hurt, but Zuko finds relief when she curls her fingertips around his hands again, squeezes them gently in her grip. She isn’t gone, and there is some inkling of her that understands what he is saying. She sighs and he tenses up again, ready for the onslaught of emotional chastisement, but it doesn’t come right away. She simply scoots herself closer until their knees touch and their hands are resting between their bodies. Katara lets her forehead rest against his shoulder, and Zuko brings his free hand up to run his fingers through her hair.

“You aren’t a disaster,” she says sadly into the crook of his neck, “you don’t _ruin_ people, Zuko. I’m sure she’s hurt, but you haven’t ruined her. And you won’t ruin me. The fact that you’re terrified of doing so speaks volumes already.” He doesn’t know what about her presence comforts him, but Zuko doesn’t fight it. Katara crawls her way into his lap and he holds her there, with a hand twisted in her hair and one against her back as she tucks her head underneath his chin.

It feels far more personal than an argument about Zuko’s ex-girlfriend, but he knows to let the silence hang in the air between them for a little longer, to let her stay in his embrace for a little longer.


End file.
